


Difficult

by sleepymccoy



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Cuddling, In show death, M/M, Minor Angst, death mention, love and support
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 07:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12836103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepymccoy/pseuds/sleepymccoy
Summary: The evening after Landry died, Paul comes back to their quarters. Hugh's more concerned with the effects of Straal's death than anything else.I have a series of ficlet oneshots going and this was meant to be part of that but they're all fluff and while this is nice it's also a bit sad so I figured I should post separately





	Difficult

Hugh was trimming his beard. The trouble with keeping a short, neat cut was that it required very active upkeep. Paul cut his hair maybe once a month, but Hugh found himself in the bathroom nearly twice a week making sure he didn’t look shabby. He didn’t really mind, the process had become calming, the soft vibrations of the razor almost a meditation that helped him consider anything and everything in a quiet moment.

 

The door to their quarters opened without announcing it, something they only did when it was him or Paul. Paul’s shift had only just ended, he must have left on time for once. Hugh continued with his trimming effort, not wanting to interrupt himself halfway through the process.

 

Paul walked into the bathroom, smiling slightly in greeting at Hugh’s reflection. He put his hand on Hugh’s lower back, his thumb stroking him gently. Hugh lowered the razor, curious what Paul wanted and why he was getting touched so early in the evening.

 

“I heard about Landry,” Paul muttered. 

 

Hugh nodded. “DOA,” he said. He raised the razor, getting back to his work. 

 

Paul stepped past him, turning to lean against the counter. “I’m sorry,” he offered quietly, crossing his arms. Paul wasn’t the type to get upset over the death of someone he wasn't close to. He was either there to make sure Hugh was ok, or about something else. 

 

Hugh shrugged one shoulder gently, he cared about her death but it wasn’t the sort of thing he carried with him. He’d experienced worse deaths and if he let them all get to him he’d likely never smile again. He mourned every passing with respect, but he tried to leave it at work when he could. And today he could. 

 

Paul was still there, his arms crossed as he stared at Hugh’s feet. Hugh finished trimming his beard, not rushing himself, hoping the time would encourage Paul to speak what was on his mind. It didn’t.

 

“Lorca was there,” Hugh said, tapping his razor on the side of the sink to dislodge any loose hairs before running it under water to clean. Paul glanced up, seeming slightly startled by the sudden spoken word.

 

“How was that?” he asked dryly. 

 

Hugh frowned. He stood next to Paul, leaning against the counter, their shoulders brushing. “He turned around and used her death to bully Burnham,” he said. He had found Lorca particularly distasteful today, luckily, unlike Paul, he rarely had to deal with him. He wasn’t sure he could hold his tongue to a professional level with this captain.

 

Paul sighed. “He’s difficult,” he said, the words weighted with his interactions with Lorca. 

 

Hugh huffed a laugh at the understatement. “To say the least,” he muttered. “I can see why you would want done with your frontal lobe, sometimes.”

 

Paul looked at him, both confused and concerned at his comment. Hugh slipped his hand to the side, brushing his fingertips against Paul’s leg to try and show the intended lighthearted nature of his words. Paul sighed again, his body shifting as he relaxed, leaning against Hugh’s arm. If he were a more tactile person he’d have rested his head on Hugh’s shoulder, but Hugh knew not to expect that sort of thing unless he was in a very bad state. 

 

“I’d like to be able to pick and choose,” Paul said wistfully.

 

Hugh felt a wave of sadness, he knew what Paul was feeling and dealing with and he was sad for him. Straal had been Paul’s close friend and research partner for twelve years, longer than Hugh had known him, and Paul was hurting in a way he hadn’t before. Hugh wanted to help, but Paul hadn’t given him a chance yet. He hadn’t even come home to Hugh last night.

 

Separate to that, Hugh had liked Straal. He was the only person in Paul’s life that he’d met in the first six months of their dating (six months in Paul's entire family visited them for Paul's birthday in the hopes of meeting Hugh). Straal was quietly confident where Paul was loudly doubtful and the dynamic continued to their personal friendship, bringing with it many moments that had Hugh laughing at the humour of their antics. 

 

Straal had also cared for Paul in a way that warmed Hugh's heart. Hugh hadn’t expected any of Paul’s friends to threaten him when they met, Paul was so confident and self sufficient. Their first words involved Paul insulting Hugh’s humming and taste in music, which was a ballsy move from a stranger. But when he’d met Straal he’d been softly told to take care of Paul, to not discard him too quickly. Hugh had liked Straal a whole lot. 

 

“I’m sorry,” Hugh whispered, unable to stop himself. “I know you’re probably not ready to talk about it but I just can’t stand that Atif died in the same pain as Landry, I-” 

 

Paul had grabbed his wrist, holding him fast, staring at the ground again. Hugh turned to him, studying his face. His eyes were damp, but not yet wet. He’d pushed it further than he should have. Hugh might be missing Straal, but Paul’s pain was on another level. “Sorry, love.” Hugh said, going quiet.

 

“The Tardigrade didn’t kill Straal,” Paul muttered.

 

Hugh frowned. “How do you know that?” he asked softly.

 

Paul’s hand slid from Hugh’s wrist. He wrung his hands, his fingers meshing together tightly in front of him. “Mission to the Glenn yesterday, I was on it. I saw his body,” Paul said. 

 

Hugh hesitated, making sure he didn’t react too quickly. “You saw-?”

 

“He was in Engineering,” Paul interrupted. “Of course he was,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head. “Where else would he be?”

 

Hugh stood up, leaving the counter behind. He turned to face Paul, his eyes covering his form, trying to figure out just how bad this was. He put his hands on Paul’s, encouraging him to calm. “But it wasn’t the Tardigrade,” he prompted. Paul couldn't be forced to talk, but he would take any excuse to be quiet and repress everything if he could, so Hugh had to keep the conversation flowing.

 

Paul’s hands finally opened and held onto Hugh’s. He made no other move for contact though, so Hugh just let him hold his hand and speak. “No, we saw Klingons that it killef. The crew, however, had spun out in the initial incident, Straal among them.”

 

Paul fell quiet, watching Hugh’s hand between his. “You shouldn’t’ve had to see that,” Hugh said. 

 

Paul shifted, his shoulders lowered and Hugh heard a small, unwanted sound escape from his throat. They stood there a moment longer, Paul holding Hugh’s hand and breathing deeply. He opened his mouth to speak and Hugh saw the corners of his mouth twitching in misery, the choke of sadness interrupting him. 

 

After swallowing a few times, Paul got his voice back. “His mouth had been pulled a foot away from his face but it was still connected, Hugh,” he whispered, his voice delicate. He pulled Hugh’s hand, tugging him closer. “His whole body was wrong and  _ so small _ .”

 

Hugh stepped into him, his spare hand stroking Paul’s hair and curling behind his neck, pulling him close. They stood still for a minute. Paul didn’t cry, but his breathing was uneven and laboured. He let Hugh hold him, still keeping a grasp on Hugh’s hand between them. 

 

Once Paul’s breaths had evened out, Hugh shifted, leaning back and running his hand around to Paul’s chin to tilt his face up to him. He kissed him softly on the corner of his mouth, letting his lips linger carefully. 

 

“Did you sleep last night?” Hugh muttered.

 

Paul shook his head. “I had to figure out what to do with the equipment Straal left behind,” he said, his voice not emotionless, but certainly more controlled than earlier. Hugh kissed him again, on his cheek, then his eyebrow. Paul closed his eyes, leaning into the contact.

 

“Let’s go to bed,” Hugh said, stepping back. He coordinated their hands so that Hugh was holding Paul’s now and tugged lightly, encouraging him to step away from the counter. Paul nodded slowly, letting go of Hugh’s hand and beginning to unzip his shirt. Hugh kept his eyes on him, making sure they moved in sync to the bed so that Paul wouldn’t feel left behind. 

 

By the time they crawled into bed in their pyjamas Paul was able to look into Hugh’s eyes without tearing up. Hugh was willing to discuss Straal, even keen, but Paul needed to sit with the death a while longer, so he kept quiet. If Paul wanted to bring it up now he would, but Hugh would prefer it if Paul just slept.

 

Hugh rolled over to face him, looking at his curled body. He was laid on his side, he was facing Hugh but he wasn't looking at him. His eyes were open, Hugh could see their gleam, but he was staring down, looking at nothing in particular. “Can I hold you?” Hugh murmured.

 

Paul didn't respond, but he shimmied forward a bit, bringing himself close to Hugh. Hugh smiled and filled the distance quickly, wrapping his arm around Paul's back and holding him tight. Paul relaxed, his hands coming up to rest on Hugh's front. After a moment one of his hands snaked under Hugh's shirt, just resting on his lower abdomen. Hugh relaxed his grip, letting his arm rest across Paul gently, the weight of him solid but not pressing. Before long Paul's breathing was matching Hugh's; slow and steady. 

 

“Good night, darling,” Paul muttered. If he weren't so close Hugh wouldn't have heard him. As it was he felt the breath of the words as much as he heard them. 

  
Hugh smiled. “Good night, Paul,” he whispered back. Paul's eyes were still shut but he quirked a small smile before fading quickly into sleep. 


End file.
